


december 23rd: just another drop stitch

by watergator



Series: december fic advent 2020 [23]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:47:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28265637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watergator/pseuds/watergator
Summary: prompt: christmas sweatersthe wintertime can be awfully cold
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: december fic advent 2020 [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2035978
Kudos: 17





	december 23rd: just another drop stitch

When Hermione wakes, she’s cold. It’s something she’s become very accustomed to in their cottage, and as their first winter here had rolled around, she’d had to use her initiative to find ways to keep her waking feeling freezing.

But alas, despite the socks she had snug on her feet, and the double blanket draped over her, she still felt that chill creeping in.

It didn’t help that there was a crack in the window frame, where it would rattle when the wind shook the house and rain came thundering down. 

Neither does the fact that the warm body that she’d been pressed up against has now gone, leaving the empty space in the bed only lukewarm as the previous body heart begins to disappear.

She stretches her legs and arms out, yawning and she scratches at her head, fingers getting tangled in thick, knotty hair that she’s gonna have to make good work of later.

Swinging her legs out of the bed, she braces herself as she leaves her cocoon of warmth, shoving her feet into her slippers she’d left beside the bed the night before, as she grabs her robe off the chair where it’s strewn, wrapping it around herself as she lets out another yawn.

Shuffling downstairs, she’s met with the smell of something cooking.

Or, at least, something that  _ was  _ cooking, and is now instead  _ burning _ .

Ron’s voice can be heard, muttering a plethora of swear words as she makes her way towards the kitchen; the sounds of clattering pots and pans can be heard, sounding like whatever is happening in there, isn’t going to plan.

And when Hermione pokes her head around the door, it becomes very evident that it isn’t.

Ron is clad in his pyjamas, his red hair is ruffled and unkept atop his head, and his “Kiss The Cook” apron is tied around his waist rather wonkily.

It’s a scene that Hermione had grown very accustomed to; waking slow and gradually letting the warmth back into the tips of her fingers and the bottoms of her feet. She yawns, ruffling the thick tangled mess that is her hair, and she’s not looking forward to tugging her comb through it later. 

It’s then that Ron must sense her behind him, because he’s spinning on his heel, almost tipping over in the process, and he has a grin that reaches his ears almost.   
  
“You’re awake!” He exclaims, waving the spatula around, and a piece of egg goes flying through the air. Hermione sighs.   
  
“I was gonna bring you breakfast in bed,” Ron tells her, gingerly looking at the pan that… does not look like an edible breakfast. “But cooking without magic is  _ hard _ .”

Hermione laughs softly as she pads towards him, yawning again as she peers into the pan. There’s a few strips of bacon that are completely charcoaled and some sausages that might just be salvageable.

She looks to Ron, reaching up on her tippy toes to kiss him on the nose, leaving him looking slightly stunned.   
  
“I told you,” she says gently as she takes the spatula from his grip, pushing the sausages around the pan as they sizzle. “You don’t need to do things the muggle way just because of me.”   
  
Ron scoffs, grinning again. “I’m not doing it for you,” he says. “No offence,” he then adds. “I just wanted to cook with… what is it again?”   
  
Hermione smiles to herself. “Gas?”    
  
Ron nods proudly even though it was him that forgot the word. “Gas,” he repeats. “I just wanted to cook with gas.”   
  
Hermione turns the stove off and reaches for two plates. “Well,” she starts, picking the pan off the stove, quickly glancing towards Ron. “No offence to you, but I think I prefer it when you cook with magic.”   
  
She plates them up the sausages.    
  
“Even if you prefer cooking with gas?” Ron asks her, taking a plate from here. There’s a little can of beans they can heat up too.   
  
She smiles at him. “Especially if I prefer cooking with gas. I don’t think I trust you with a literal explosive,” she warns him, and Ron follows her out of the kitchen laughing.   
  
*   
  
Hours later, as the afternoon rolls around, it stays cold. Snow is starting to scatter from the sky, but only light enough not to settle, much to poor Ron’s disappointment.   
  
The fire is roaring though (with the help of magic, no gas involved this time) and Hermione is very much engrossed in her book whilst Crookshanks is curled into a big, ginger ball, purring away as she absentmindedly pets at his fur.   
  
Ron walks in front of her, and she looks up, smiling when she sees he’s holding two mugs.   
  
“Thought the weather called for some hot butterbeer,” he tells her as she carefully takes it, only slightly jostling Crookshanks, who stands up, stretches his legs out and finds another part of the sofa to curl into.   
  
“Thanks,” Hermione hums into her mug. Hot butterbeer always reminded her of Christmases at Hogwarts when herself, Ron and Harry would wander into Hogsmead, the thick snow that sometimes reached her shins, there really was nothing better than keeping warm in The Three Broomsticks. 

She takes a sip, only slightly burning her tongue, and as she looks up at Ron, he splutters a laugh.

“You’ve got…” he trails off, pointing at her lip, and when she licks it away she realises there’s a nice thick layer of frothy foam there, and she blushes.   
  
“Very attractive,” she mutters under her breath as she wipes away at her mouth with the sleeve of her cardigan, and Ron just nudges her.   
  
“I think it’s attractive,” he says, brows raised, and Hermione just blushes harder.   
  
*   
  
“Ron, have you seen my quill? I have a letter I need to send to Ginny.”   
  
Hermione is ready to turn the house inside out when she practically stomps into the lounge, picking up a stack of books resting on the coffee table, when Ron looks up from where he’s crouched over something, looking rather suspicious.  


“Uh. Why don’t you just… accio it?” He asks, voice only cracking a bit.   
  
Hermione furrows her brows at him. “That’s not the point,” she says slowly. “Do you have my quill?”   
  
It’s then that she realises that Ron has in his arms a lumpy looking object, and when she tries to look further, he shifts his body away from her, looking like he might bite her head off if she tries to pry anymore.   
  
“Just borrowing it,” he says sheepishly, holding out her quill.   
  
She takes it, stares at Ron before shaking her head in dismay, heading back upstairs to finish off her letter to her sister-in-law. She’ll have to ask her why her brother is so strange sometimes.   
  
*   
  
Nighttime falls again, and once the fire is burnt out, there’s the same chill in the air as this morning.    
  
She groans as she peels back the covers of her bed; mattress cold, meaning that when she crawls in, she’s automatically cold again.   
  
Ron’s loudly brushing his teeth in the bathroom next door when Hermione pulls the blankets up to her chin, hoping that if she cuccons herself enough, she’ll be able to reserve some body warmth. Plus, once Ron gets into bed, she can just koala bear-hug him, and soak up his natural body heat.   
  
She’s trying to get to sleep when she hears footsteps stop at the foot of the bed. Peeking one eye open she sees the faint look of concern on Ron’s face.   
  
“Are you cold?” He asks.   
  
Hermione huffs. “This house is  _ always _ cold,” she starts, but softens her tone. “I just wish these pyjamas were a little thicker, that’s all.”   
  
Ron looks at her for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek as if in deep thought, and before Hemione can ask if he’s alright, he’s looking at her, still looking concerned.   
  
“Be right back,” he tells her before he’s trotting off out of the room, stomping down the stairs where his footsteps gradually become muffled.    
  
She can hear the sound of rustling around, a frustrated groan, then, eventually,   
  
“Accio… present!”   
  
There’s a swooshing sound and then footsteps coming back up the stairs.   
  
Ron stands there, at the foot of the bed with the lumpy object from earlier, cradled in his hands, like it were his child.   
  
“What is that?” Hermione asks, sitting up on her elbows to look at him properly.   
  
He moves around the bed to her side, sitting down by her legs, looking at the parcel and then back at her, smiling, eyes twinkling in the low light.   
  
“I was gonna give it to you at Christmas,” he says softly, holding it out for her to take which she does, the paper crumples in her hold. “But I suppose it has more use to you now.”   
  
She quirks her brows at him, blinking at him before Ron can nudge her excitedly, the bed creaks under his weight as he jumps up and down.   
  
“Well go on!” He exclaims. “Open it!”   
  
She looks at him then back down at the parcel. She’s carefully pulling away the paper that’s been haphazardly been taped together, clearly the work of one Ronald Weasley.   
  
Eventually the paper is falling to the floor and when Hermione pulls the item out, her heart gets stuck in her throat.   
  
“I know it’s not… perfect,” Ron starts to rush out as she holds it up. “Mum taught me how, but I… I wanted to make it with no magic so it took a while…”   
  
Hermione has to sniff back tears as she admires the knitted jumper she’s holding. There’s a wonky H stitched into the front. She tears her eyes away from it to look at Ron who’s watching her carefully, almost unsure.   
  
“Ron…” she croaks. “It’s  _ wonderful _ .”

Ron’s face lights up, like it’s the best compliment in the world. “Really? You like it?”   
  
Hermione lunges forward, the jumper between them as she throws her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a tight hug.    
  
“I love it,” she says into his neck. “Thank you.”   
  
He hugs her back, arms tight around her, and suddenly, Hermione doesn’t feel so cold anymore. 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on tumblr !! @watergator


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